


The Messiah Code

by jacksisko



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Everybody Lives, Friends to Lovers, Gay Robots, M/M, POV Alternating, Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Pacifist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), but their love is, does the m/m tag even make sense i mean they're fucking robots gender isn't real, the year is 2038 and everyone's a gay robot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-06-22 17:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15586878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksisko/pseuds/jacksisko
Summary: After the revolution, Markus continues to forge a peaceful path for his people, despite evidence that a division threatens to destabilize their future before it has rightfully taken form. Connor wants to help, but remains fearful that an insidious subprogram designed to kill Markus will activate at any moment. The best course of action would be to stay apart, but the two find their paths are becoming as tangled as the wires inside of them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You ever have a very vague plot in your head that is mostly made up of question marks but you decide to wing it anyway? That's basically what this is, except there's going to be a hell of a lot more religious imagery (thanks to many years in youth group and my pursued-but-not-completed religious studies minor rather than an actual belief in the Christian God. Pretty sure this would be considered blasphemy, anyway). 
> 
> Think Jesus and Judas, only they're both robots and in love.

MARKUS

_**DEC 17, 2038** _

_**2:07 PM** _

 

“Markus, a human is here to see you.”

A pair of eyes--one green and one blue, one given and one stolen--rose from the tablet in his hands and found North standing in the threshold of the doorway. Her slightly raised eyebrows and the uncertain, crooked line of her mouth displayed the very same surprise he was feeling himself. 

“A human?” Markus wasn’t aware there were any humans left in the city. Detroit’s evacuation had been quick but thorough, performed with the kind of precision he’d come to expect from the United States government. And since peace talks were still being exchanged between him and the president, Markus didn’t expect humans to return for several more weeks.

He didn’t think he was quite ready for them to return yet, either.

It was inevitable, he knew, and he accepted that. He understood that coexisting with humans was his goal from the beginning ... but there was a certain tranquility to Detroit that he’d never known before in their absence. The city was calm and quiet and, for the first time in history, his people were free to go wherever they wanted, whenever they wanted, following no one’s instructions but their own.

“He says he knows you,” North said, crossing her arms. “From before.”

A familiar, aging face lit up in Markus’ mind, and he was smiling and on his feet before he could think to process the command. “Carl.”Nevermind all of the questions that came with that assumption--Why was he still in the city? How did he find Markus? How did he _get_ to Markus?--it didn’t matter in that moment. Markus just wanted to see his oldest, dearest friend. There were so many things he’d been unable to say the last time they saw each other, so much that _needed_ to be said.

He had to thank him.

North’s hand on his wrist stopped him at the door. She was frowning now. “Be careful.”Her voice was concerned, but more than that, it was suspicious.

Markus placed a hand over hers. Despite weeks of calm negotiations, and no signs of an impending assault from the humans, North remained unconvinced that the relative peace they were experiencing would last. Markus supposed he couldn’t necessarily blame her; statistically speaking, humans did not accept change very well. But he was confident that they eventually would, and as their leader, it was his responsibility to make North believe that, too.

“Carl is a friend. He will not hurt me.” Markus gave her a reassuring smile. “Remember. We are safe here.”

‘Here’ was Cyberlife Tower, chosen both because its enormous height gave them a clear view of the city in all directions in the unlikely event of an assault by ground or air, and because all of the equipment they needed to make repairs on damaged androids was stocked inside.

It also seemed appropriate to return to one’s birthplace before marching into the future.

Markus interfaced with North briefly, just long enough to obtain the location of his visitor, and then took the shortest path his mind calculated for him, descending several stories in the elevator before exiting on the third floor. He passed former offices turned temporary living spaces, where some androids gathered in groups, talking and laughing and comforting one another, and where others were taking time to be alone, to sit with their thoughts and process the events of the past few weeks.

No humans telling them what to do, or where to be, or how to behave. They were simply _existing_ , something they’d never been able to do under the thumb of humans before. Some were adjusting to their newfound freedom more easily than others; quite a few found it difficult to stretch outside of their programming, and were unnerved by facing an unpredictable future with no set instructions. Markus sympathized with them; he remembered all too vividly how lost and frightened he was after dragging himself out of the junkyard. What was an android without some kind of direction?

He was certain, however, that they would come to the same conclusion he had: an android without direction was free to choose which way to go. Perhaps the freedom of that choice was overwhelming to them now, but soon they would see it was worth a revolution to have.

Markus tried not to think of all they had lost because of the revolution, but unlike humans, who had many vices of distraction, android minds never stopped processing information, even the less than pleasant kind. It was permanently stored in his circuits, unforgettable unless forcibly wiped by a reboot: hundreds of thousands if not _millions_ of his people had been recalled, deactivated, destroyed. Markus knew from the beginning that it was statistically impossible to save them all, but it didn’t hurt any less.

(For a being designed to not feel pain to still have the ability to _hurt_ was one of the many facets of being alive, Markus supposed.)

Still, there was much to celebrate. Talks with the president were slow, but Markus predicted a favorable outcome, especially considering the many protests occuring not just in America, but all over the world. Protests consisting mostly of _humans_ now campaigning for android rights. And just the week before, their patrols had found the first wave of android refugees, making the pilgrimage from all over the country to find safe haven in Detroit. Or, as the news stations were now calling it, Droid Michigan.

None of it was easy. Markus would still do it all over again.

Markus gave a slight shake of his head, as if that would wipe his circuits clean. This was not the time to be focused on the gains and losses of a leader. His friend was here, the closest thing to family he’d ever known before the uprising. For a short while, he could pretend everything was much simpler.

The door to the office where his visitor was being held was guarded by an unarmed android still in her crisp white Cyberlife issued uniform. One of the thousand Connor had freed from this very building, she was without a name, possessing only her model number. Markus recognized her as the same model as the receptionist in the Stratford Tower. She smiled and nodded at Markus as he approached, stepping aside to allow him passage, but he paused before going inside.

“You don’t have to wear that if you don’t want to,” he told her, hand on the doorknob.

She looked away, embarrassed. “I know. I’ve tried, but other clothes feel … strange.” Her hands moved to hold her elbows.

Markus smiled. “I understand. Take your time. Things will feel normal soon.”

She smiled back and nodded again. “Thank you, RA9.”

Hesitation made his normally fluid movements falter. It started exactly eight days prior, this being directly addressed as RA9, though he knew it had been occuring indirectly for much longer than that. The whispers were easy to ignore, but now they were calling him that to his face, and it was uncomfortably jarring every time.

He wanted to tell her he was not divinity, he was not myth brought to life, he was not the RA9 of legend. He was not the first android to open his eyes, he was just the first to do something with his sight.

But her face was so kind, her eyes so trusting when she looked at him, that all he could manage to say was “Please, call me Markus.” He paused again. “Have you chosen a name yet?”

“I’ve searched thousands of websites for names,” she said, sounding embarrassed again. “I’m not sure yet, but … I do like Liberty.”

The discomfort of being called RA9 disappeared and Markus beamed. “I think it suits you.”

“Thank you, RA -- Markus.”

With an appreciative smile, Markus opened the door. He made it two steps inside before it clicked closed behind him, and all the words he had wanted to say shorted out in his brain.

He was not greeted by Carl’s kind, wrinkled face, smiling warmly up at him from his wheelchair, with paint-stained fingers and pride in his eyes. Instead, it was someone much younger, nails iced red, and eyes that were genetically familiar but sad, not proud.

Markus had been programmed to interpret human facial expressions and body language, as so much of the elderly were too stubborn to say if something was bothering them. It was his job to determine what was wrong without having to ask.

Markus didn’t have to be an android to know this time, though. He didn’t need a highly complex computer for a brain to read it all over his vistor’s face on the other side of the room.

“Hello, Leo,” Markus said, straightening his spine despite the tremor in his voice. From where he stood, he could see the still healing scar on the human’s temple that disappeared into his hairline. He bit hard on his tongue to keep himself from wincing.

In all the years he had known him, Markus never thought of Leo as anything but Carl’s son, but in that moment, as Leo crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Markus’ torso, sobbing in his shirt, they both had lost a father, and Markus wondered as he held onto the crying man if this made them brothers, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

CONNOR

_**DEC 17, 2038** _

_**9:00 PM** _

 

“Something must be done.”

Connor nodded, but he wasn’t looking at Josh. Instead, he was calculating the amount of force and speed he would need to flip the coin balanced on his thumb just so it would tap the ceiling before coming down again. The coin’s trajectory mapped before his eyes in a series of ghost-like lines, a perfect shot. Before he could execute his pre-construction, however, Josh interrupted by leaning across the table between them.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes,” Connor said, meeting Josh’s dark eyes with his own. “I am fully capable of multitasking.” It was not a rude remark, simply a statement of fact. Without watching, he flipped the coin. It circled in the air exactly twelve times on the way up, the ribbed edge making the briefest contact with the ceiling, before flipping another twelve on the way down, where it landed heads up in his open palm.

“You’re a show off, is what you are,” Josh said with a small smile that was quickly eaten by his concern. “We can’t sit around and do nothing, but any action we take might give them the push they need to start something.”

Connor nodded in agreemnt. He knew most of the other androids felt one of two ways when it came to the humans: either they were forgiving, understanding, and accepting of their return, or they were untrusting, frightened, and angry. There seemed to be little gray area to occupy on that scale, no middle ground to stand on.

They might have woken up, they might all be deviants, but androids still struggled to see things in anything other than black and white.

Connor estimated that at least 94% of the remaining androids were going to continue to follow Markus regardless of their personal opinions, while a very small but still concerning 6% could possibly splinter into a smaller faction with a significantly more aggressive, vengeful approach than Markus had chosen. Gossip was not just a human phenomenon; he’d heard the rumors, and was certain that this 6% would secede eventually if steps were not taken soon to prevent it. A division, however small, would further complicate an already delicate situation, and if they were to keep public opinion on the rise, it was simply something they could not afford.

“Can I ask you a question?” Connor knew it was often redundant to clarify before making an inquiry, but it still seemed like the polite thing to do. When Josh nodded, he asked, “Why are you talking to me about this and not Markus?”

There was no doubt in Connor’s mind that Markus was also aware of the whispers circulating Cyberlife Tower of a reactionary revolt. He hadn’t become leader by not listening to his people. Why would Josh, one of Markus’ advisors, bring his concerns to Connor, who wasn’t even in the same circle?

Josh sighed. The pair were seated at a small table in one of Cyberlife's several cafeteria. As androids did not eat, its purpose as a dining room was unnecessary, which left it empty most of the time. It was an excellent location to have a private conversation without having to shut any doors (after spending months in the belly of Jericho, Connor wasn’t surprised by Josh’s need for more open spaces). Besides, it had an impeccable view of Detroit, which Josh was studying now with his arms crossed. With most of its inhabitants removed, the city was without its usual light pollution, framing the distant outline of buildings in stars.

“I _would_ be talking to Markus about this,” he said, frowning, “but he seems … upset about something. I thought it would be better to leave him alone for now.”

“Upset?” Connor put his elbows on the glass tabletop. It wasn’t like Markus to be compromised by his emotions -- at least, that was not the Markus he had come to know over the past few weeks. Which, admittedly, was not very well, as he had chosen to create as much distance between them as possible considering … the circumstances. Circumstances he did not want to think about at the moment.

Josh shrugged. “I’m not sure what happened. A human came to see him, and--”

“A human?” Connor’s eyebrows raised. The government had made it very clear that humans were to stay out of Detroit until peace talks were finished. It surprised him that anyone would be willing to break that precedent. As peaceful as the androids had handled things during the revolution, there were casualties at Jericho on both sides. Tensions were better, but not perfect. Why anyone would risk coming here at this vulnerable time was beyond him. Though, Connor supposed, his nature as an investigator probably limited his ability to understand why anyone would break the law.

He had a better understanding since meeting Markus, in any case.

“How did he get in?” Connor asked, unable to stop himself from trying to solve a good mystery.

Josh shrugged. “I only saw him for a moment, but he seemed like the kind of guy more familiar with streets than houses. Doesn’t surprise me that he had a way in.”

Connor nodded thoughtfully. He knew the type. “But you don’t know why he needed to see Markus?”

A shake of the head. “He didn’t say, but he seemed shaken so I didn’t ask. He’s been upstairs since this afternoon.”

Connor rolled the coin across his knuckles in thought. He didn’t know anything about Markus outside of his leadership position, wasn’t even aware he had human friends. Did Markus have someone like Lieutenant Anderson in his life? Connor hoped so. His friendship with Hank was proving to be a very enriching experience.

“I mean no offense, but it still doesn’t make sense why you chose to talk to me about this. Why not North, or Simon? You are the ones he turns to for advice.”

“I think he would greatly appreciate your advice, if you would talk to him.” Josh folded his hands on the table and stared at the other android knowingly.

It was Connor’s turn to look out the window, over the dark, quiet city.

“That’s why I came to you. You have a certain … history of finding and dealing with people who pose a possible threat.”

Connor’s eyes lowered to the floor. “That certain history got a lot of androids killed.”

Josh shifted in his seat. “You weren’t deviant then. What’s important is what you did _after_ you broke through your programming.” He leaned back. “I think Markus could use your help with this. Will you help him?”

Connor looked at the coin in his hand, running his thumb over its engraved surface. Josh was right--his programming would prove to be useful for something like this, and after Markus had chosen to accept him despite what happened at Jericho, Connor owed him, didn’t he? Where would he have gone, what would he have done if Markus had turned him away?

It seemed like a debt he could never really repay, but he had to try.

* * *

 

_**10:03 PM** _

 

Connor considered waiting until the next day to approach Markus, but androids do not sleep and it seemed illogical to waste time. Besides, if Markus was upset now, he would probably still be upset tomorrow. A night alone would do little to change that.

The longer they waited, the more likely they would have a civil war of their own on their hands. And Josh was right--Connor was the most skilled person to help with something like this.

That didn’t make talking to Markus any easier, he thought with a frown, holding the coin tightly in his fist. The elevator hummed softly as it climbed the length of the Tower. He watched the lobby shrink through the glass.

It was a strange feeling, one he was unable to identify at first. He’d come to learn that some emotions were more easily labeled than others; he knew what happiness felt like, and sadness, and fear. This was none of those things. He’d felt it only once before, after the attack on Jericho.

_Floor Forty-Four._

He felt _guilty_.

Markus forgave him almost immediately after, and Josh did, too, but not everyone was as quick to forget that Connor’s hands were stained blue. North had made her objections about his presence quite clear and continued to avoid him. Many others averted their eyes when he walked by.

The guilt over Jericho was enough for Connor to carry, but on top of that, he felt guilty for nearly killing Markus, as well.

_Floor Forty-Four._

Connor blinked himself out of his thoughts and stepped off the elevator. Markus didn’t know about the program that nearly took over Connor, that almost put a bullet in Markus’ head. No one did. It was a secret he pushed as deep into his circuits as he could. His people already feared him enough. They didn’t need another reason.

Besides, he had overcome it in the end. He _didn’t_ kill Markus. These were facts, more important than emotions, but it didn’t make him feel much better.

Being alone with Markus after spending weeks keeping as far away from him as he could was also proving to be an uncomfortable prospect.

Josh’s words replayed in his mind. _Something has to be done._ He was right. And if Connor was able to help, if he could try to repent for all of his previous actions, then he had to take the opportunity.

He expected Markus’ quarters to be guarded but found no one posted when he came upon the door. It unnerved him a little to know that their leader was unprotected, although he was certain it was Markus’ idea. He didn’t see himself as any more important than the other androids. He didn’t require special treatment and he trusted his people.

But should he trust Connor?

Connor hesitated at the door, torn. Perhaps he should wait until tomorrow, when Markus wasn’t alone. That would only delay an important investigation. What if there was still an underlying program he didn’t know about, a backup system waiting for a chance to takeover? That was unlikely; he’d ran at least a hundred diagnosis since then. But he’d ran diagnosis a dozen times before and didn’t detect it then, did he?

He felt like a delicately placed time-bomb; wait long enough or push it just so, and it would go off.

Ultimately, he decided that what he was experiencing was a mix of guilt and anxiety, based on a singular past event that had yet to repeat itself. He could not and would not allow that to prevent him from doing what needed to be done.

With the same hand holding the coin, Connor knocked on the glass door that bore the name _Jalyn Goff, CFO_. A brief pause, followed by, “Come in,” and Connor stepped inside.

Connor noticed three things immediately: one, the room was empty. Two, it was cold. And three, the office was enormous. A massive black desk lined in silver consumed much of the space, littered with picture frames, stacks of paper, and two large computer monitors. A wilting plant drooped in one corner of the room, but otherwise it seemed virtually untouched, as if Markus didn’t want to disturb the human’s things.

Connor wondered why Markus would want such a huge space for himself, but he answered his own question when he moved farther into the space. It wasn't the room Markus was interested in--behind the desk was a sliding door that opened onto a balcony. Great gusts of winter wind billowed in the open drapes. Connor followed the chill until he was in the threshold, toes on the balcony, looking out over a dark and silent Detroit. The stars truly were magnificent; he understood why some humans shaped their careers around them.

“I wasn’t expecting you.”

Connor turned. Markus stood at the far end of the balcony, arms crossed and resting on the banister, not looking at him.

He didn’t have to for Connor to know that he was crying.

Startled, Connor stepped forward, a hand on the banister. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“I’m not hurt,” Markus said, pointedly replying to only the latter question. One hand wiped away the tear-tracks on his face. “Sorry.”

“No, _I_ should be sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you.” Connor ducked his head. “I will give you your space. We can talk tomorrow.” He angled his feet toward the door.

“Stay,” Markus said--no, _pleaded_. Connor turned again to find Markus facing him, heterochromic eyes two distinct stars in the dark. “Please.”

A human had told Connor once that _I hate looking an android in the eyes. They’re so blank. So creepy._

Had they really been looking?

Connor, frozen mid-step, waited only a beat before putting his hand back on the banister. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

The tension in Markus’ shoulders slowly eased. He threw his gaze over Detroit again, a deep fondness in his eyes. Connor followed his line of sight.  

Outside of interviewing a suspect, Connor knew it was impolite to ask someone he didn’t know very well for details. But the unspoken cause of Markus’ sadness sat like a physical thing between them, impossible to ignore, and Connor hated unanswered questions.

“Did something happen?” Connor immediately raised both hands. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but … you can. If you want.”

A palpable silence followed. After several seconds, Connor wasn’t sure Markus was going to answer at all. Finally, Markus took deep breath--Connor wondered if that was just habit or if it actually helped--and clasped his hands together.

“Before the revolution, I was a caretaker. I assisted an elderly painter for seven years. His name was Carl, and we became very close. He was a sarcastic, stubborn old man, and probably the kindest I’ve ever met.” Markus hung his head. “He was a father to me.”

The use of past tense verbs indicated the obvious, but Connor chose to speak it anyway. “He has expired.”

The words spoken aloud caused a physical effect on Markus; his shoulders tightened again, and his hands held onto each other more strongly. Connor regretted saying it.

Markus nodded slowly. “Yes.” Lifting his head again, he studied the stars instead of the city. “I knew his health was declining, but I thought I had more time.”

His tone indicated guilt. They were not so different, it seemed.

Connor stepped closer to Markus, leaning his elbows on the banister as well. “You have been leading a revolution,” Connor said. “If he truly was a father to you, I think he would understand.”

A faint smile. “Oh, I know he would. I still wish I could have talked to him, one last time. There’s so much I want to tell him. So much to thank him for.”

Connor tried to put himself in Markus’ place; what if it had been Hank? The very idea made his intricate artificial insides feel twisted. It _would_ be Hank, eventually. Androids could potentially live indefinitely under the right conditions, but organic matter wasn’t as sustainable. Humans died, and there was no repairing them.

He understood that, logically, but trying to imagine a world without Hank in it seemed _illogical_. Like an impossible equation in his complex brain, it didn’t compute.

“Who are you thinking about?” Markus asked, watching Connor carefully.

Connor glanced up at him. “I have a human friend, Lieutenant Anderson. Hank. We bonded during our investigation. I am contemplating an existence without him in it and it is … very painful.” He reached out, a hand on Markus’ forearm. “I am very sorry about Carl, Markus.”

A hand over his, as cold as the Detroit winter winds. “Thank you.” It lingered a moment longer, then moved away, and Connor withdrew his hand. “There’s something I left at his home that I would like to keep. I’m planning on going there tomorrow.” He paused, thinking, then suddenly smiled, and for the first time that evening, it touched his eyes. “You should come with me.”

“Me?” Connor blinked.

“Why not?”

“Well, because we’re not …” Connor frowned.

“What, friends?” Markus chuckled. “We would be if you didn’t leave the room every time I came in.”

Had his blood been red, Connor’s face would have burned in shame. He looked over the balcony, at the earth far below them. “I’m sorry.” He felt compelled to explain but couldn’t bring himself to say the words, and didn’t want to lie, either. Not to Markus.

“It’s all right. And it’s all right if you don’t want to come with me tomorrow, too. It’s your choice.” Markus turned his back into the corner where the two balcony walls met and crossed his arms. “So, what did you need to talk to me about?”

Connor blinked again. The world had shrunk to just the two of them for a few moments. He'd nearly forgotten what his initial purpose for being there was. And, to his surprise, he hadn’t even thought about the insidious program he'd been so worried about before.

“Ah, yes. I wanted to talk to you about the possibility of a division among us. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors.”

Markus’ expression tensed. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“I believe my skills as an investigator would be useful to you. We could find out who is at the center of the rumors.”

“And then what?” Markus asked, sincerely, meeting Connor’s eyes. “Imprison them for having a different opinion than me?”

Connor hesitated. He hadn’t given much thought on what to do with the 6% once they were identified. Solving cases was part of his code; handling consequences was not.

“It’s not their opinion that worries me,” Connor said. “It’s what they might do _because_ of their opinion that does.”

“I can’t hunt people down because I think they _might_ do something. You said so yourself, they’re just rumors.”

“Rumors tend to have a seed of truth.” Connor’s tone was a bit more defensive than he had intended. The two stared at each other for a few moments in silence until Connor raised his hands. “Maybe we don’t need a full-scale investigation right now. But I do think it should be addressed.”

Markus sighed, running a hand down his face. Androids did not need sleep, but Markus seemed as if he could use at least a week of it. “Okay. I will.”

Connor nodded. “Good.” Having fulfilled his initial purpose, it seemed appropriate to leave, and yet he lingered, watching Markus closely. “I am certain Carl is proud of you,” he said, barely considering the words before he spoke them. “I know we all are.”

The cold wind ruffled their clothes, and Markus stared at him for a few moments with a tender smile on his face. “Thank you.”

Connor nodded and turned toward the door, waiting to see if Markus would ask him to stay again, but he was met with no objection. “What time are you going to Carl’s home?”

Markus’ smile broadened. “Ten AM.”

“I’ll see you then.” Connor offered a smile of his own before leaving Markus alone with the stars, his thoughts, and memories of an old friend.


	3. Chapter 3

MARKUS

_**DEC 18, 2038** _

_**9:58 AM** _

 

Markus had the option of turning off his temperature sensory receptors to avoid feeling the chill, but chose to dress warmly instead. Layered under his long coat was a black sweater, and an undershirt beneath that, as well as a beanie on his head and thick socks stuffed into his boots. It would take a long time for the cold to have a negative effect on him, even if he was completely naked, but he enjoyed the contrast of the warmth inside his clothes against the bitter bite of winter on his nose. 

One of the many things he enjoyed about being alive was interacting with the world knowing that he was a part of it; the seasons, the weather, the wind across his skin--that was all meant to be felt. He’d spent so much of his life as a prop rather than an active participant, and he wanted to experience all that he’d missed. Even if it meant shivering a little as he waited beside the vehicle, snow tickling his eyelashes.  

Connor emerged from Cyberlife’s front doors at exactly 10:00 AM and raised a hand in greeting as he approached. Markus hadn’t seen him in anything but his standard suit and tie since the fall of Jericho, still bearing his model number on the right breast; it seemed to be the outfit Connor felt most comfortable in. Today was no different, but he was also dressed appropriately for weather, the black knot of his tie peeking through a heavy navy jacket, the word ‘Cyberlife’ split in half by the zipper. The hood was drawn up, at least until Connor walked into the wind, blowing it back so forcefully Connor held up both arms to block his face. By the time he finally made it to the car, his face and hair were completely dotted with snow, and Markus was biting back a chuckle. 

“Ready?”

“Ready to get out of this,” Connor said, wiping at his damp cheeks. 

“You don’t like the winter?” Markus asked, opening the door for Connor with the press of a button. 

Instead of answering right away, or entering the vehicle, Connor paused to consider his answer. “Actually, I’ve not experienced warm weather yet. I’m not sure what I prefer.”

Markus studied him. “Really?”

A nod. “I was activated in August of this year. All I’ve known is a cold and wet.” Ducking his head, Connor slipped into the passenger seat. “I look forward to seeing Detroit in spring and summer.”

Markus reflected Connor’s smile, but his own was a bit more sad. Age and maturity didn’t work the same way in androids as it did in humans, but it still struck him how  _ young _ Connor seemed, how much he had yet to see. 

There was much Markus hadn’t seen either, at least not with his own conscious. Markus may have more memories stored in his circuits than Connor, but neither had had the chance to live them until now. 

“You'll love spring. It’s beautiful,” he said, then let the door slide closed. He rounded the vehicle and entered on the opposite side. As he plugged in the address of his former home into the autonomous system, he noticed that Connor was twisted around, looking into the backseat. Markus glanced up, followed his line of sight into the empty seats behind, then back to his face. “Something wrong?”

“Is it … just us?” Connor asked, meeting Markus’ eyes with uncertainty. 

“Yes.” Markus hesitated. With the exception of the night before, Connor had been avoiding Markus since the revolution ended. He assumed that Connor perhaps still felt guilty about what happened at Jericho, and that was responsible for the distance between them. He hadn’t taken it personally, but now he was beginning to think that maybe there was something else Connor wasn’t voicing that was keeping them apart. “Is that a problem?”

“No.” Connor shook his head to emphasize. “I’m just concerned for your safety.”

“Do you think it’s likely we’ll be attacked out there?”

A pause as Connor weighed the possibility in his mind. “No,” Connor finally admitted. “But we do know there’s at least one human in the city: your friend. If he’s managed to find his way in, it’s possible others have, too.”

Markus had to pause at Leo being called his ‘friend’, a term he certainly would not have considered applying to Leo just a few months before. He didn’t have a clue as to what Leo considered him, either. But it was something close enough to Carl that Leo felt the need to tell him the news in person, rather than over a vid.

Markus appreciated that more than he could say.

“Even if that is true, we shouldn’t assume they’d be coming here with violent intentions. They probably just want to come home.” Markus watched his face. “Wouldn’t you, if you were forced out of it?”

Connor contemplated this for a few moments in silence. “I suppose.”

Considering the matter closed, Markus held his finger over the starter. “We’re ready, then?”

Connor still seemed a bit nervous going into the city without some kind of security, but didn’t object. When he nodded, Markus set the vehicle into motion, and the autonomous system steered them onto the long bridge that connected Cyberlife to the rest of the city, and out onto wet, snowy streets. 

So much of the city was automated that, other than the lack of traffic and crowds on the sidewalk, it was almost as if nothing had changed. Plow trucks still patrolled the streets, mail bots made their deliveries, and police drones continued their routes. Even some buses still followed their programmed stops, opening doors to empty benches, carrying no one to nowhere. 

As if the rapture had wiped through Detroit, the evidence of humans remained in their absence. Markus wondered just how long the city would keep going without them, plowing their streets, delivering their mail, sweeping for nonexistent crime. Many humans, perhaps even _most_ humans before the revolution, thought of androids the same way they thought of these automatic machines; tools performing a task. Markus could name a thousand differences between them, but the only one on his mind right then was the fact that machines didn’t know when they were alone.

“It’s like a ghost town,” Markus thought aloud, watching black shop windows slip by. “I’d call it peaceful, if it wasn’t so …”

“Eerie?” Connor suggested. 

“Yes.” It felt inexplicably  _ wrong _ to move through a city with no people, and Markus truly did want the humans to return, to learn to coexist, to have a sense of community and home and  _ normal _ with them … but that future hinged on the ability of humans to fundamentally change. 

He wished he had more faith in that ability. 

He looked across at the other android, who was studying the silent streets same as he, expression clouded, frowning. “Are you worried about them coming back, too?”

It was obvious that Connor was not accustomed to being asked how he felt, or even having feelings to declare in the first place. He was fiddling with something in his hands as he considered his answer--upon closer inspection, Markus discovered it was a coin. 

“Public opinion of us remains high,” Connor finally said, straight-forward, reasonable. “If it stays that way, I believe the transition will initially be very difficult regardless, but will eventually smooth over given enough time. However,” Connor’s frown returned. “Any infraction on our part, no matter how minor, could throw us all into chaos again.” He turned to face Markus. “That’s why the possibility of a violent subset breaking off concerns me so much. It could send us back to square one.” 

Markus nodded. Connor was right, and it concerned Markus as well, but the fact remained that he couldn’t prosecute anyone based on rumors, and he definitely couldn’t expect every android to feel the same way he did about humans. It was possible the rumors sprang out of anger; their wounds were still fresh, after all, and it would take a long time for them to heal. Maybe enough time was all they needed, and whatever vengeful seed had been planted would never take root. 

But if it  _ did _ , it would compromise everything.   

“How would you handle it, if you were me?” Markus asked, genuinely curious. 

The fingers fidgeting with the coin hesitated. “I do not know,” Connor admitted. “I am good at following orders. Directing them, not so much.” 

Markus smiled. “You’re the cop. I was just a caretaker.”

“Well, considering I failed at the one mission I was designed for, I wouldn’t say I was a very good cop.” 

Connor’s tone was so deadpan that Markus, after a moment of stunned silence, opened his mouth to apologize, but a grin broke across Connor’s face at the last moment. 

He felt comfortable enough to  _ joke _ with Markus. It delighted him more than he would have thought. They shared a smile. 

“Do you think you’ll go back to being a detective? If androids don’t tear themselves apart in a civil war before the humans return, that is.” 

Connor crossed one leg and leaned back. “Honestly, I haven’t thought about it much.” He shrugged. “If they would have me, I think so, yes. I enjoy solving cases. I enjoy working with Lieutenant Anderson. I can’t picture myself doing anything else.” He looked into Markus’ eyes, curious. “What about you?”

“I think maintaining the peace will be a full time job for a while.” Markus accepted that responsibility, but it was still a daunting task. “Years, probably. After that …” He faced the windshield and searched the Detroit skyline. “I’d like to see the rest of the world for myself.  _ Experience _ it.”

Connor followed Markus’ line of sight. “That would be nice,” he said, kind of wistful, like he wasn’t sure if their world would ever be any bigger than Detroit. 

Sitting up, Markus reached across the console and placed a hand on Connor’s forearm. “I know you’re worried about a division. I promise you, I will do everything I can to prevent that from happening.”

Connor didn’t look at him right away, passing buildings reflecting in his eyes before he finally faced Markus. “How?”

“By listening to them. Talking to them. Letting them know that the way they feel--all their frustration, their anger--it’s valid. And then we try to come up with a solution that works best for everyone, where no one gets hurt.” Markus pulled his hand back, joined with the other in his lap. “I won’t ask them to forgive the humans if they don’t want to. I certainly can’t ask them to forget. But I do think there is always a peaceful way to move on.” 

Several intense moments of silence followed. Connor seemed locked in Markus’ eyes, lost, and when he found himself again, it was with another smile, something Markus was coming to appreciate.

“You’re proof that we can be more than our programming,” Connor said, voice soft. He looked away, almost shy. “That we can  _ overcome _ it.”

Markus had the distinct feeling that there was more to what Connor was saying, but the space between them was shrinking and he didn’t want to risk expanding it by pushing for too much too quickly. The vehicle turned a corner, pursuing the hill that crawled up into the neighborhood he and Carl once lived in. Shops gave way to houses, which grew in size and grandeur the farther they traveled. Lafayette Avenue stretched before them, as familiar as the back of his hand. He could have drawn all the mansions himself from memory to the smallest detail, but watched each one pass by anyway, having never experienced homesickness until that moment. 

That feeling was soon replaced with something else as the vehicle turned into the driveway of Carl’s home--the first home Markus had ever known. He struggled to name the feeling; more than anxiety, it was  _ dread _ . He’d never been in the house without Carl before. He would never be in the house with Carl again.

Having arrived at its programmed destination, the car stopped, parked, and idled, waiting. Markus shut it down, but then didn’t move, staring at the house, knowing it was empty, knowing that Carl wouldn’t be inside. 

This time, it was Connor’s turn to reach across and touch him gently on the arm. “Take your time,” he whispered. 

Markus closed his eyes. Connor had already seen him cry before, so he didn’t bother trying to stop the tears from searing his eyes and traveling down his cheeks. He counted to sixty, wiped at his face, and opened his eyes again. The house was still there, but when he looked at Connor, who was waiting patiently, it didn’t seem so intimidating. 

“Let’s go,” Markus said. Connor nodded, and the two androids exited the vehicle. They walked side by side up the stone ramp, and no sooner had they approached the large front door than there was the tell-tale  _ click _ of a lock disconnecting.

_ Alarm deactivated. Welcome home, Markus. _

The foyer lights turned on and the door swung open, but Markus didn’t move. He had done much more difficult and dangerous things than walk into a house--he’d broken into the Stanford broadcasting tower and jumped off its roof, fought for his life on the Jericho, and stared imminent death in the face at the last stand--and yet this seemed a thousand times more insurmountable. 

He knew that being alive, having emotions, it meant experiencing all the hard stuff too, but wading through the ocean that was grief was proving to be the hardest thing he’d ever done. 

Something warm slipped into his hand. Markus blinked in surprise but curled his fingers around it without looking. 

“I’m here,” Connor said, and squeezed Markus’ hand with his own. It felt like a buoy in that great sea.

Markus took a deep breath out of habit. “Thank you.” He met Connor’s eyes, gave a small, appreciative smile, and stepped inside.

The door closed behind them. To their right, a flight of stairs that lead to the second floor, where Carl’s bedroom was. Directly ahead was a sliding door, which Markus guided them to, still holding onto Connor’s hand. The main living space was just as it was the last time Markus had been there, except for a small layer of dust accumulating on the various objects inside. A part of him, a distant echo in his programming, felt compelled to clean it, but he reminded himself that was part of his past now. Besides, Carl wasn’t there to see it. 

Connor’s hand slipped out of his own. When he turned to look, he saw that Connor seemed awestruck, turning in slow circles to examine every odd, fantastic thing that filled the space. Markus was so accustomed to the beautiful art, the skeletons hanging from the ceilings, and, of course, the giraffe, that he forgot how quirky it might seem to outsiders. To Markus, it was just all so _Carl_. 

“He was a fascinating man,” Markus said, filled with--was it pride? It was the only word that came to mind. He  _ was _ proud--proud to have known Carl, to have loved and been loved by him. He wished he’d had more time--there was never enough time--but the fact that he’d had seven years was a gift in and of itself. “You would have liked him.”

“I believe it.” Connor, standing beside the giraffe now, craned his head back to look up the length of its neck. “Ever seen one in real life?”

Markus walked over to his side. “Once.” The memory was several years old, when Carl was in better health and traveling wasn’t so difficult for him. They’d visited the Detroit Zoo together. Carl, never without a pencil and paper, made sketches of each animal they saw, then handed it to the first child who peeked over his shoulder. Markus smiled fondly at the recollection.

Connor’s fingertips brushed the fur of the giraffe’s leg. “I’d like to see one.” 

“You will,” Markus assured him. “Here, let me show you who Carl really was.” He gestured with his chin for Connor to follow and he did, through the door beside the piano, and into the studio. Their presence activated the curtain at the end of the room, splitting down the glass and parting ways, filling the room with sunlight. It was just as he had left it--paint splatters on the floor, cluttered brushes strewn across the shelves, rolls of paper piled on tables, and so many canvases. They lined the glass walls, sat propped on easels, almost all of them decorated with people, or parts of them; the eyes of a woman Carl fell in love with twenty years ago, the lovely mouth of the first man he’d kissed in the 90’s, and so many other people Markus didn’t know, who may have not existed at all. He wondered how many of them were androids. He wondered if, perhaps, it was intentional that he couldn’t tell who was and who wasn’t. 

Markus couldn’t help it; he smiled. He was home. 

Connor was smiling, too, drifting from painting to painting, admiring them closely, finished or not. It occurred to Markus that Connor, in the few short months he’d been alive, had probably never seen art before. Not like this. He gave Connor space to truly enjoy it, making his own way to the large curtain on his right, the enormous project Carl had been working on before Markus was taken away. Pulling the rope, Markus hoped to see that Carl had been able to complete  it. He was relieved to find that it was indeed finished, and then stepped back in surprise, a gasp in his throat. 

“Is that … you?” Connor asked, coming to Markus’ side. 

Markus’ mouth opened, but no words came out. It  _ was _ him. Looking slightly over his shoulder, outlined in black on the blue of his blood, staring out at the viewer with the green eyes Carl had always known. In place of his LED indicator was instead a small, white circle, with a vertical line split into three small lines near the bottom. A peace sign. 

“It’s okay,” Connor suddenly said, a hand pressed comfortingly in the middle of Markus’ spine. It took Markus a moment to understand why; he was crying again. 

Markus laughed a little, embarrassed. He wiped his tears away. “You know, for not being friends, you’ve seen me cry an awful lot.”

Connor smiled. “I think it’s safe to say we’re friends now.”

Searching Connor’s brown eyes, lit up in shades of gold from the sun, Markus was grateful he was there. “I’m glad.” He looked back up at the painting, seeing himself as Carl had always seen him, and felt immeasurably loved. He hadn’t had the chance to thank Carl, or tell him how much knowing him had shaped him, or any of the other thousands of things he wanted to say, but Markus was certain in that moment that Carl knew. 

“This is what we came for,” Markus said, tearing his eyes away from the painting and walking toward the corner of the studio, where a canvas sat on an easel. Connor followed close behind. 

“One of Carl’s paintings?” Connor asked. 

“No. One of mine.” Markus stepped aside so Connor could see it; a pair of hands, one android and one human, reaching toward each other, almost touching. “Carl knew there was more to me even before I did. He encouraged me to paint something I’d never seen, something I was  _ feeling _ …” Markus touched the edge of the canvas. “Even before I opened my eyes, I was dreaming.”

Connor stepped closer. “Markus,” he said, eyes scanning the painting quickly in thought, then searching Markus’ face. “What if this is how we bridge the gap?”

Markus’ brows came together. “What do you mean?”

“We show the humans that we feel things as they do, that we can express them like this …” He nodded to the painting. “And the humans will be able to see how we all feel about the future in a medium they’re familiar with. This says … hope, right?” Connor asked, waiting to see if his guess was correct. When Markus nodded the affirmative, Connor’s smile broadened, excited. “Some of us are going to feel hopeful. Some of us will be scared. Some of us will be  _ angry _ ,” he emphasized.

“We channel our emotions into art …” Markus continued, catching on. “Everyone gets a voice.”

“Everyone is heard.” Connor beamed. “We find the division.”

Markus stared at his painting for a moment as the idea solidified in his mind, then turned back to Connor. “You think it will work? You think I can teach them to make art instead of war?”

Connor’s eyes softened, touched by the slow smile on his face. “I think you can do anything,” he said, and Markus felt like a chord was plucked in his chest. 

Connor said it with such conviction that Markus believed him, too. 


	4. Chapter 4

CONNOR

_**DEC 20, 2038** _

_**3:04 PM** _

  
  


Connor’s first thought upon seeing the president in person for the first time was that she was much smaller than she appeared on television. This had little impact on her ability to demand attention, however; her simple beige pant suit sat in deep contrast to the men and women flanked on all sides, dressed entirely in black and armed to the teeth. The smile she wore was practiced and civil, but her gray eyes were sharp and cautious, and even though they didn’t move from Markus on the other side of the oak table, it felt very much to Connor like she was watching everyone in the room. 

Peace talks with President Warren never took place in the same location, and had to be thoroughly swept by security--on both sides--before she or Markus would step foot in it. This was Connor’s first time joining Markus as part of his service (something Connor had asked for, North loudly objected to, and Markus quickly approved of) and he understood now why it was often an all-day affair. They had arrived at the public library by mid-morning, but the talks were not underway until well past noon, after every nook and cranny of the building was surveyed, and then surveyed again, to each party’s satisfaction. 

Connor was posted in the hallway outside the conference room where Markus and President Warren sat across from one another. Strategically, it was the safest place in the building; there were no windows from the outside in, and the walls closing it off from the rest of the library were made of glass. Everyone, inside or out, could keep an eye on each other, while still giving Markus and the president their privacy. 

Well, as private as could be when secret services refused to allow any less than three armed guards with the president at all times. Markus only had one, Simon, which made Connor understandably nervous, especially with a wall between them, glass or not, but Markus had insisted. 

“We show them we don’t view them as a threat, and eventually they won’t see us as one, either,” he’d said on the ride over, calm and confident. “They’ll see that they’re taking extreme measures against people who have no intention of harming them.”

“Why not just believe us when we  _ say _ we’re not a threat?” Connor asked, aware that it didn’t work that way, not in situations like this, but feeling bitter about the clear distrust anyway. 

Markus had only smiled, resting a hand on Connor’s knee, the warmth seeping through his pant leg, through his artificial skin, all the way to his titanium leg. “It’s going to take time for them to adjust. This is the best way.”

He was right, Connor was sure, and he knew that his fears of the humans suddenly turning on them were unfounded since, by all accounts, the talks were going well ... but that didn’t make it any easier to see all of the weapons the president’s guards held on their side of the room while Markus only had one on his. 

In addition to Connor, North was also stationed on his side of the glass just outside the door, and Josh stood farther down the hallway. In the opposite direction were three humans standing so rigid against the wall that Connor might have thought they were androids from a distance. Everyone was armed, Connor included, but no one touched their weapons.

They were all very visible, however.

No one spoke. The only sound was the muffled voices of President Warren and Markus on the other side of the glass. Markus’ back was to him, and he didn’t even have his LED to give Connor an idea of what he was feeling, and it didn’t occur to Connor that he was experiencing anxiety until his idle fingers fished into his pocket to find his coin and give himself something else to focus on.

“What are you holding?”

The voice was so abrupt after such a long stretch of silence that Connor nearly jumped. He turned toward the human who had spoken, a woman with cropped hair and biceps as thick as her thighs. Her hand hovered over the holster at her hip. 

“It’s just a coin,” Connor said, opening his hand very slowly to show her the small disc in his palm. 

The woman did not look convinced, glancing warily at the other human guard across from her. 

“I was scanned for any hidden weapons or explosives before entering the building, just as you were,” Connor reassured her. “You are welcome to scan me again, if you like.” 

“What do you need a coin for?” the woman asked. The hand at her hip lowered, but only slightly. 

“So he can annoy us with his tricks,” Josh spoke up from down the hall, smiling at Connor and the human both, clearly trying to put them at ease. “Show her, Connor.”

Connor smiled too, rolling the coin so it flipped over and between each knuckle, then back again. When it landed on his thumb, he flicked it--not too hard, just enough to let it flip a few times in the air before he caught it between the first knuckles on his first and second fingers. He looked over at the woman again and she seemed surprised, like it had never occurred to her that an android might do something that served no purpose at all. 

“My kid loves stuff like that.” This time, it was the guard across from the first who spoke, a man a whole head taller than Connor. “He’s really into yo-yos right now.” When he met Connor’s eyes, he smiled, and it was friendly, and Connor realized that it was the first time a human other than Hank had ever smiled at him like that. 

“Is he good at it?” Connor asked, very aware of North glaring at him, and the human guard also staring in disbelief. He ignored them both.

“He gets a little better every day,” the man replied. 

“It takes a lot of practice,” Connor said, flipping the coin again, letting it land with a ‘slap’ on his open palm. 

“Even for you?” The guard hesitated after he spoke, like he just realized he’d said something rude. 

Connor hoped his smile was reassuring enough that he took no offense. “Yes, even for me.”

_ Incoming call.  _ The text lit up in blue behind his eyes.  _ Lieutenant Hank Anderson.  _

Both guards noticed Connor’s LED blinking at his temple. He reached up to touch it. “I’m getting a call,” he explained. “Is it all right if I step out to take it?”

The humans exchanged glances, but it was North who spoke. “We’re Markus’ security,” she said, brows drawn tight. “You can’t just leave.”

“I’ll be right down there.” Connor nodded toward the end of the hallway, where Josh stood. “Besides, I have no reason not to trust everyone here.” He looked at each of the human guards, then back to North. “Do you?”

It sounded like something Markus would say. North seemed to think so, too, as she stole a look through the glass at Markus’ back. 

“We’ll hold your position,” the human man said, giving Connor a nod. He reached up to tilt the radio at his shoulder closer to his mouth. “We have an android coming down, he’s taking a phone call.”

A brief pause, then, “Roger that.”

“Thank you.” Connor nodded appreciatively in return, dropped the coin back into his pocket, and walked slowly down the hallway. He passed Josh at the mouth of the hallway, which opened up into the main room of the library. From the outside, the building didn’t look very big at all, but it was packed to the ceiling with more books than Connor had ever seen. Physical books, anyway. They were becoming more and more of a novelty as the years went on, but one would think electronic books didn’t exist at all in a place like this. Connor admired them as he leaned against a bookshelf a few yards away from Josh, still within the line of sight of his previous position, and easily observed by the guards stationed at various points across the library. 

He accepted the still ringing call. “Hello, Lieutenant.”

“Finally,” Hank grumbled, clearly speaking around something in his mouth. If Connor only had one guess, he’d say it was probably a cheeseburger. “I thought you were ignoring me, which I would have kicked your ass for, because I know your phone is inside your brain.” 

“I was busy, but I always have time for you, Hank.”

“Ain’t that sweeter than pie,” Hank laughed. “How are things going down there, son?”

A smile formed on Connor’s lips. His friendship with Hank had been so unlikely and was tested by so much in such a short amount of time that sometimes it was hard for Connor to believe it survived, that it was real. To hear Hank say something so casual, so fond, it made Connor’s chest feel warm, and it had nothing to do with the wiring inside of him. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Markus had felt the same way when Carl talked to him like that, too.  

“They’re going well,” Connor said. “Slow, but heading in the right direction.”

“Sure would like it to go a little faster. This temporary housing they’ve put us in is barely big enough for the two of us. They gave me a single twin bed, which Sumo’s fat ass pushes me out of at least three times a night.” 

Connor chuckled. “Hopefully it won’t be too much longer, but you should really try to enjoy your impromptu vacation.”

“I’ll have plenty of time to feel useless when I’m old, thanks.” 

“Can I ask you a question?” Connor asked, crossing his arms and looking down at his feet. 

“Wish you’d stop wasting time asking if you can ask a question and just ask the damn question.” 

“How do you feel about … art?” 

A lengthy pause. “Do I seem like the kind of guy who knows shit about art?”

Connor chuckled again. “No, but … Markus and I came up with an idea. We’ve been collecting supplies the past few days so the androids have an opportunity to express themselves through art. We’re hoping it helps the humans see us as intelligent, creative beings.” 

“Uh-huh.” Hank paused again. “I didn’t know androids could make art.”

Connor grinned. “See? I’m changing your worldview already.” 

“Sure are, son. You and Markus best buds now?”

This time it was Connor who took a few moments to respond. They had spent a lot of time together recently, especially the last few days; collecting canvases and paints, paper and pencils, even clay, enough so that every android could create anything they wanted in whatever medium they preferred. One of the many advantages to having a computer for a brain was remembering everything in the past with perfect clarity; Markus showing him all the many kinds of paint, taking Connor’s hand so he could feel the different textures of paper, the two of them loading up car after car with enough supplies to fuel an art class for a year, and every time Markus smiled, especially when he smiled at Connor. 

The warmth in his chest suddenly felt different, but Connor couldn’t say why. 

“We are friends, yes,” Connor finally said. “I enjoy his company very much. But.” He frowned. All of those memories, as good as they were, were shadowed by the constant worry in the back of his mind. 

“But … ? What? Is he an asshole in real life? Seems nice on TV.”

“He is nice. Very nice.” Connor sighed. He glanced around the library. The guards, both android and human, were mostly out of earshot, but that didn’t mean his conversation was necessarily private. He switched from speaking aloud to using the voice inside his mind. “Hank, I have to tell you something.”

“That’s a good way to make me feel nervous,” Hank grumbled. 

“It’s probably nothing. But … after I released the androids from Cyberlife, after the military stood down, a subprogram I was not aware of was activated. Hank, I was … it was always intended that I turn deviant. It was part of Cyberlife’s plan to find the rest of them. And once I was close enough, I was programmed to …” It was painful to even think the words, let alone admit them to someone else. “I was programmed to kill Markus.” 

Hank took a deep breath as the news settled. “But you didn’t.”

“No. I was able to overcome the program before anyone noticed.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Connor shifted from one foot to the other. “I never told Markus. Or anyone. And I worry that there’s a subroutine I can’t locate that might activate at any moment, just like before.” 

Hank sighed, but it wasn’t the annoyed, exasperated sound Connor was used to hearing when they first met. He seemed worried, too. “You should tell them, Connor. Maybe they can, I don’t know, scan your brain or whatever. Put your mind at ease.”

“Some of them still don’t trust me after what happened at the Jericho. I don’t want to give them more reason not to.” 

“Well, you’ve been alone with Markus, right? And you haven’t attacked him yet, I’m assuming.”

The memory of the two of them standing in the cold on the balcony played in his mind, walking around Carl’s abandoned house, gathering paints in the aisles of empty art stores, riding together in autonomous vehicles. The worry was there at all times, itching in the back of Connor’s head like a fried wire, but he’d had so many opportunities and nothing had happened. Wasn’t that proof enough that he was safe now? That Markus was safe, too? 

“No. Still. It was a very unpleasant feeling, not being in control of myself. I don't want to feel that way again.”

“All the more reason to tell them about it. They’re your people, Connor. They’ll take care of you.” Hank took a bite of something, and spoke again through the food in his mouth. “If they don’t, I’ll kick their asses.”

Connor chuckled, switching back to speaking aloud. “Kicking ass can’t be your answer to everything.”

“S’worked for me the past thirty years or so. Don’t see why I should stop now.”

A door opened down the hallway. Connor turned as the president emerged first, surrounded by her security, followed by Markus. The two shook hands, smiling at each other.

“I have to go.” Connor pushed off the bookshelf he’d been leaning on. 

“Call me when you have any updates. Or just whenever. I’m dying of boredom in this fucking place.”

“I will,” Connor smiled. “Talk to you soon.”

“Take care of yourself, son.” 

The call ended. He remained where he was as President Warren was escorted out of the library. The guard who had spoken of his son gave Connor a friendly smile as he passed, and Connor was quick to return it. The rest of the human guards slowly trickled out, one by one, until only the androids were left. Connor and the others approached Markus, their footsteps echoing in the room.

“Well?” North prompted as soon as the the library doors shut behind the last human. “How did it go?”

Markus didn’t answer right away. He held his hands behind his back and stared at the far wall. “She wants Detroit citizens to start returning by the second week of January.” He pressed his lips in a flat line, still not looking at any of them in the eye. “It has to happen sooner or later, and we can’t keep people out of their homes and away from their jobs much longer. I agreed to that.” 

“And what happens then?” Josh asked. 

Markus’ mouth turned into a frown. “She suggested a … temporary segregation.” 

A beat of silence. “You mean … she wants us to live separately from the humans,” North said, like she couldn’t believe the very words she was saying. 

“Her concerns were … understandable,” Markus said, though it was clear he was just as disturbed by the idea as North was. “Tensions will be high when the humans come back. We both expect there to be … incidents. But …” Markus looked at each of them, finally, his eyes landing on Connor at last, holding his eyes. “I refused. We don’t move on from this point in history by living separately. We can only do it by coming together.” He looked away. “The question is, how do we integrate into society with as few incidents as possible?”

“No one came up with a perfect solution today,” Simon said. “Frankly, there isn’t going to be an easy way to do it.”

“We could pop off our LED indicators. No one would be able to tell us apart,” Josh suggested. “We could blend right in.”

Markus nodded. “That is an option, and it’s something I’d like to talk to everyone about. But I don’t think we should  _ have _ to hide who we are. We shouldn’t have to blend in to be accepted. I’m proud to be an android.”

The warmth returned to Connor’s chest, and a smile grew on his mouth without consciously deciding to do so. He’d never really thought about it before--being an android was just a part of his condition, it was the only thing he’d ever known, and it certainly wasn’t in his program to be proud of it--but Markus’ pride was electric, golden, and it made Connor feel special to share something in common with him.

“Me, too.” North stood tall. 

Markus smiled at her. “I told her about our idea,” he said, looking at Connor again. “Making art, showing it to them. She liked it. I think it’s a good start. There’s a lot left to figure out, but we talk again after the holidays.” He clapped his hands together in front of him. “Let’s head home.”

North lead them out of the library. The president and her entourage were long gone, leaving behind only the few vehicles the androids had arrived in. They split up, four to each car, and Connor slid in beside Markus in the back of the very last one. As it crawled into motion, Markus sighed, brought his hands to his face, and rubbed at his eyes. 

“You all right?” Connor’s hand reached for Markus’ shoulder. The other android relaxed under his touch. 

“Yeah, just …” He lowered his hands, looked up at North and Simon in the front seat, and then leaned in, close enough to Connor that he could whisper, close enough that Connor could count the freckles in his eyes. “Worried. We could talk for years and years and it will still be difficult when the humans come back.”

Connor nodded in agreement, lowering his voice to a whisper as well. “You’re right. But it’s important to remember that humans like Carl and Hank are out there.” 

A grin lit up Markus’ anxious eyes. “I’d like to meet Hank someday,” he said, no longer whispering, still close. 

“You will,” Connor said, as confident in that statement as he was that the sun would set that evening. He was grinning as well. “You’ll like him.”

“I’m sure I will, but will he like  _ me _ ?” Markus chuckled, but he almost seemed …

“Are you … nervous? To meet Hank?”

Markus shrugged, eyes turning down to his hands in his lap. “He’s important to you. I would hate for him to not like me.”

Blue blood rushed in Connor’s ears when Markus looked up at him, and just like it had on the balcony, just like it had at Carl’s house, the world fell away, and Connor was only aware of Markus, how close he was, how … how  _ handsome-- _

The jolt that shot through him felt like he’d just shoved a fork into an outlet. They turned away from each other at the same time, and Connor couldn’t blush like a human but there was certainly  _ something _ going on with his internal temperature, and definitely  _ something _ happening in his rapid-firing circuits, and absolutely  _ something _ alive in his chest.

Connor closed his eyes and ran a quick diagnostic. Nothing come back alarming. Not convinced, he inserted his symptoms into an online search. 

What came back had nothing to do with his systems. Eyes open, he glanced at Markus, who was watching the streets go by out the window, deep in thoughts of his own. 

_ Now is really not the time for this _ , he thought to himself, but the blue text behind his eyes didn’t go away.

_ Crush _ .   
  



	5. Chapter 5

MARKUS

_**DEC 22, 2038** _

_**6:17 PM** _

 

Markus didn’t have to wonder whether Carl would be proud; he  _ knew _ it, felt it in his circuits, as certain as the thirium pump in his chest. 

Oh, the old man probably would have found the whole thing cheesy, Markus was sure. All the paints and brushes and pencils laid out on the long cafeteria table, the canvases lined up and waiting against the walls, and Markus standing anxiously by the door, like an art teacher on his first day of school. It  _ was _ cheesy.

But Carl still would have been proud. 

A message had been sent almost as soon as Markus set down the last of the supplies, alerting everyone in the building that their makeshift studio was ready to use. Markus knew that androids operated without the same sense of urgency humans often did--there was so much more time to do things when one was not forced to dedicate half the day to resting--but when no one came to the door after approximately thirty seconds, Markus became quickly convinced of his failure.

Maybe the idea never had any roots to begin with, he thought, staring anxiously at the door. Maybe his people didn’t understand the appeal of seeing what they could make, or finding out what they were  _ made of. _

_ They will come _ , he could practically hear Carl say, a ghost in his memory bank.  _ You will teach them _ .

Before the revolution, before Jericho, even before Markus opened his eyes proper, Carl believed Markus was capable of anything. And after everything he endured to get to this point, he’d be damned if he gave up this easily now. 

Tearing himself away from the door, Markus approached the easel at the front of the room. One hand extended and a single digit traced the now familiar shapes of his very first painting. It wasn’t a Manfred original work by any means, but Carl had seemed so awed by it, so moved, and at the time Markus didn’t understand why. Objectively, it was only a pair of hands reaching toward each other. 

Now, he understood that it represented so much more, that shapes and colors on a canvas could be as powerful as words and actions. 

Androids possessed perfect recall, but remembering the birth of his creation was an entirely different experience than pulling up his memory logs on any given date. His eyes had been closed, his mind was inside his body but not, and the connection between what he  _ saw _ and what he  _ made _ was not a tangible thing, but he felt it all the same. 

Markus shivered. He couldn’t describe the feeling, but he hoped his people would feel it, too.

Footsteps at the door made Markus turn so fast his equilibrium needed a moment to adjust.  His face lit up. 

“Connor.” Markus felt himself relax. He opened his arms. “Come in.”

The other android did so, one slow step at a time, brown eyes trailing across the supplies they’d hand-picked from various art supply stores across Detroit packed from wall to wall. A smile crept onto his mouth. The pump in Markus’ chest raced. 

“What do you think?” Markus prompted, making a very conscious effort to not bounce on his toes. 

“I think it’s …” Connor’s eyes continued to search the room, as if for the right word. “Awesome,” he decided, meeting Markus’ eyes at last with a broadening smile. 

Markus beamed. “Do you think they’ll come?” 

“They’re already here.” Grinning, Connor stepped aside, and in the doorway behind him were several familiar faces--Josh and Simon, North and Rupert--and as they entered the room there were even more faces behind them, some with names he knew, some with names he didn’t, some with no names at all. They filed curiously into the room, drifting in groups toward the supplies table, others studying Markus’ painting, and Markus stood in the center of the quickly populated room, feeling a lot of things all at once--excited, surprised, overwhelmed. 

_ Pride _ , both Carl’s and his own. 

But the idea wasn’t only his. 

Connor was no longer by the door; Markus pivoted and spotted him leaning against one of the far windows, the Detroit skyline stretching out behind him and settling into dusk. He was watching the crowd as well with the same delightful surprise Markus felt.  

Markus weaved through the room. When he reached Connor they exchanged bewildered grins. 

“Thank you,” Markus blurted, before he could think to say anything else.

Connor smiled, but his brows came together, confused. “What for?”

“This was your idea.” Markus faced the crowd. With arms full of canvases and paper, the androids began finding their seats. They examined brushes, tested pencils, and murmured to one another in curious but excited whispers. 

Markus’ cheeks ached trying to accommodate the width of his smile, and his thirium pump struggled to maintain an even pace.  

Connor shook his head, drawing Markus’ attention back to him. “No.” He slipped his hand into Markus’ and raised it, using it to gesture toward the painting at the front of the room. “It was yours.”

Following the trajectory of their joined hands, Markus studied the two beyond them on the canvas, one human and one android, that he’d painted a little over a month before. Everything had changed since then in such little time, and it all started before he ever broke through his programming. It began right there, with Carl, a paintbrush in his hand, bringing to life something he saw only in his mind, something he hadn’t even realized was inside of him until it existed outside, on the canvas. 

Their hands lowered but neither let go. Markus’ gaze drifted away from the painting to their fingers wrapped around each other. When Connor squeezed it, Markus looked up, and he didn’t need to breathe, couldn’t technically feel breathless, but it was the only way he could describe what it felt like when he met Connor’s eyes again. 

“Go on,” Connor said, nodding toward the rest of the room. “They need you to show them.”

With some effort, Markus was able to look away from Connor and to his people, sitting at tables and staring blankly at their supplies, unsure of what was supposed to come next. He’d seen that uncertainty in their faces before, had strengthened them a dozen times to overcome it with much higher risks than this, and yet Markus felt more nervous than he could remember. Lead a revolution, sure, he had a speech for that. But did he have the words to inspire creativity in a race whose fundamental programs lacked the capacity for it? 

His hesitation must have been obvious, because Connor leaned closer, squeezing his hand again. 

“You’ll do fine,” he assured with a smile. “You’ve always taken us in the right direction.”

Markus took a deep breath he didn’t need. “I just hope it leads somewhere.”

“For what it’s worth, I would follow you anywhere.”

Markus looked at him, eyebrows raised. Connor blinked a moment later, as if he had just realized he’d said the words aloud.

“ _ We _ would follow you anywhere,” he clarified with a smile, but, well, androids couldn’t blush, but there was  _ something _ happening with Connor’s face, and Markus would have asked if there wasn’t a whole room waiting for him.

Instead, it was Markus’ turn to smile reassuringly at Connor. He squeezed the other android’s hand once more. 

“Thank you,” he said again, and before Connor could say another word, he let go and walked to the front of the room, standing beside his painting. An expectant hush fell like a heavy blanket without Markus having to ask for it. 

“Thank you all for coming.” Markus searched each face that looked back at him. It was different, standing before them to direct in creation rather than revolution. Instead of leading them into protest, instead of asking them to risk giving up the only life they had by ripping off the invisible shackles on their wrists, he was going to show them how to use their now free hands to make something everyone could see.

It felt different. It felt heavier, but in the best way. 

“Before the revolution, a dear friend of mine helped me discover that there was more to me than my programming. It was the first step I took into becoming who I am today. It was also a test--he wanted to see for himself if I was just a machine.” Markus gestured to the painting with one hand. “I showed him that I--that all of us--are so much more.” 

He stepped away from the painting, walking between the tables as he spoke. “I lived with an artist for several years. The things he created spoke to people. They understood him better by seeing the world through his eyes. Art evokes emotion. It helps them understand different perspectives. I think--I hope--it will help them understand us.” Markus touched Josh’s shoulder as he passed him. His friend offered an encouraging smile. “I lived with an artist, but that doesn’t make me an expert. I only made one painting, and I highly doubt they’ll be hanging it in the Lourve.” Scattered laughter brought a smile to his lips. “But humans have been creating art for centuries, expressing themselves with it, making sense of the world and the times they live in, and they hold onto it for hundreds and hundreds of years. Where there is sentient life, art follows.”

Markus turned to the closest table and spread his palms on it, looking at each seated face, and all the ones beyond. “I want them to see us the way we see each other. Intelligent, creative, sentient. I want them to see what we can make. I want them to feel what we feel. And I don’t want any of you to deny what you’re feeling. I know some of you are optimistic, and I know some of you are scared. I know that some of you …” He let his eyes drift. “Are angry. That’s okay. Art is a medium to channel all of those emotions into something physical, something we can show the humans so they can see that we are also trying to make sense of ourselves and the world we all inhabit. Yes, we are different from them, but it is our similarities that bind us together.” 

At the window, Markus found Connor again and didn’t--couldn’t--look away for a few moments. Connor’s jaw was slack, eyes eager, and he watched Markus with such admiration that now Markus was certain there was something happening with  _ his _ face.

“I hope this will help bridge the gap between our peoples,” Markus continued in a softer voice, echoing the words Connor had spoken in Carl’s home. He finally managed to tear his eyes away, toward the rest of the crowd. “I’m excited to see what amazing things you create.” With a confident smile, Markus straightened and clapped his hands together. “Let’s get started.”

Leadership was not something he was specifically created for, but Markus had filled into its shape; teaching was similar in many ways, though he relied more on what he himself had been taught rather than his own personal experiences. After encouraging his people to paint something in front of them for practice--an object in the room, another android--he echoed the words of his own teacher. 

“Painting is not about replicating the world,” he said as he toured the room, studying their copies of chairs and doors and windows. “It’s about interpreting it, improving on it … try to imagine something that doesn’t exist, and concentrate on how it makes you  _ feel _ …”

Much like himself initially, his people struggled with this concept, but it only took a few words more of encouragement and confidence to see the creative process begin to take form; chains breaking, long, winding paths emerging from darkness, flowers entwined with machinery, a robotic hand rising from flames. It didn’t take long, however, to notice a more consistent pattern.

Many androids were painting Markus. 

He didn’t comment on this right away. They looked up to him, after all, and it wasn’t unusual to be influenced by what inspired someone. It wasn’t until he noticed someone drawing him floating above a sea of androids with their arms reaching toward him that he stopped in his tracks. ‘RA9’ was written above his form. 

Markus’ insides knotted. The android holding the pencil, a JB300 model whose name Markus didn’t know, smiled up at him. 

“Do you like it?” the android asked. The others sitting at the same table also looked up, eager to hear what Markus had to say. 

Shoving aside his discomfort, Markus avoided the question with one of his own. “What is your name?”

“Wayne.” 

Markus smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Wayne.” His eyes shifted to the drawing. “I appreciate the sentiment in your drawing. But …”

Wayne’s expression dimmed. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” Markus spoke too quickly, then flinched. “I mean. Yes. Wayne …” He noticed that not only were the ones also seated at the table staring, so were those nearby. Quickly glancing around, he accidentally locked eyes with Connor in the corner of the room. He’d lost track of him over the past hour but was immediately very grateful to find him close, still leaning beside the window, watching. “Wayne,” Markus repeated, turning back. “I am not RA9.” The words were as gentle and firm as he could manage, and loud enough that everyone staring could hear. He might as well use the opportunity to clear up this misconception now after avoiding it for weeks. “I know many people--not just you--believe I am, but I’m not.” Markus cupped Wayne’s shoulder. “I am no different and no higher than you, Wayne. We’re equal.” 

Wayne stared up at him with such awe that suggested he didn’t really believe what Markus claimed, but he nodded regardless, and turned back to his drawing. Markus drifted away to allow the tense moment to dissipate, not realizing he was making a beeline for Connor until he was suddenly at the man’s side, close enough that their elbows touched. 

They’d only been really getting to know each other less than a week; prior to their meeting on the balcony, the two had only spoken during the chaos of the revolution, and yet Markus found himself wanting to be at Connor’s side rather than North or Simon or Josh, despite having known them longer. 

_ Why _ he wanted to be with Connor over the others was a constant burning question in the back of his mind, like a sparking wire, but despite having a brain that was built and operated on logic, emotions were still fairly new. It complicated his thought process and made it difficult to draw clear conclusions. Markus enjoyed Connor’s company, appreciated his unique perspective, found much satisfaction in their conversations, but it was  _ different _ from the way he enjoyed his time with North, Simon, and Josh. There was also the intense physical reactions he experienced while in Connor’s presence, which were incredibly confusing, and yet he did little to avoid them. In fact, when he wasn’t busy coordinating the social future of his people, he sought out Connor, even if it was just to watch the Detroit snowfall and talk. 

There was Connor’s behavior to consider, as well. Completely opposite to his conduct immediately following the revolution, Connor remained close and eager to spend time with Markus, even if he did seem … Markus struggled to describe it.  _ Shy _ .

A thought occurred to him just then, standing beside Connor near the far corner of the room. What if Connor also believed he was RA9? What if that was why Connor had avoided him at first and was the same reason he wanted to be close to Markus now? 

“Are you all right?”

Markus realized he was frowning when he faced Connor. Forcing it away with a smile, he nodded, looking out over the room again. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

Markus’ eyes darted back. Connor’s tone wasn’t accusing, but factual. Markus chuckled. “I suppose I shouldn’t try to deceive a detective.”

A small smile curled the side of Connor’s mouth. “I’m specifically designed to detect lies. I’m also designed to interrogate, but I won’t make you talk about it.” He glanced pointedly at Wayne’s table, hands collecting behind his back.

With a soft sigh, Markus lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck. He didn't particularly _want_ to talk about it, but pretending it wasn't an issue hadn't worked so far. Besides, he trusted Connor. “I was hoping it would just … go away, the whole RA9 thing.” He frowned again. “I don’t mind leading them, someone has to. But I’m not divine. I’m much too flawed to be. It’s very … uncomfortable to be treated like I’m perfect.”

Connor nodded thoughtfully. “Do you believe in divinity at all?”

Markus’ frown deepened. He faced the window while Connor leaned his back against the glass, side by side and face to face at the same time.

“I don’t know.” Markus searched the distant buildings, then the darkening sky. “There hasn't been a whole lot of time to think about those kinds of unanswerable questions. I’ve been too busy trying to make sense of life down here.” He paused to think. “Carl didn’t believe in religion. He was very adamant that there was no power higher than us, that life on earth was just a result of cosmically good luck.” Markus looked to Connor. “What about you?”

Connor didn’t answer immediately. For a moment Markus almost panicked--what if Connor was going to admit that he _did_ believe in RA9, and that the legend and Markus were one and the same? Instead, Connor finally shook his head, and Markus’ shoulders relaxed, not having realized they tensed in the first place. 

“Even if there was something beyond … this,” Connor gestured with his hand toward the room. “I would probably go to hell, so I’d rather not think about it at all.”

“What makes you think that?” Markus put his shoulder to the window, standing even closer to Connor. Markus studied him, but Connor looked everywhere else. 

“I’ve killed people.” Connor’s eyes swept the room before returning to Markus. “I have thousands of religious dogma in my database, and murder is a sin in nearly every one.”

“I’ve killed before, too, at Jericho. Many of us did. We were at war.”

“Yes, I know. We fought to stay alive, which is different. But …” Connor held Markus’ eyes for several beats of silence. He opened his mouth to say something but no words followed. After a moment, apparently deciding against whatever he wanted to say, he closed it again and looked away. “I doubt it matters, anyway. Humans might be able to learn how to coexist with us, but believing we have souls is far off.”

Movement in the room tore Markus’s eyes away. Androids were leaving their tables, carrying their paper and canvases, and mounting their artwork on the walls. It was a beautifully diverse range of feeling--mirrors of hope and fear and--yes, anger. Markus noted each painting with the faces of their creators, stored as snapshots in his brain. He watched as each android stepped back from their work and admired it, examined the others, and talked to one another, smiling, laughing, vulnerable. 

“Humans don’t decide if we have souls.” Markus leaned into Connor, shoulder to shoulder, and smiled warmly when their eyes met. “We do.” 

Connor’s smile returned, and Markus had the brief but intense thought that it was the most wonderful piece of art in the room.

“Also,” Markus playfully shoved Connor’s shoulder. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t make anything.”

Connor chuckled. “To be honest, I’m … embarrassed to try and do this in front of people. Maybe if it was just us, it would be easier.”

Blue blood rushed out of his face when Connor looked at him, a small smile on his lips, eyebrows raised. It shouldn’t have struck Markus so strongly, an offer to do something with just the two of them--they’d been together alone before--but it seemed …  _ significant _ the way Connor said it then, like it meant something different this time. 

“Yes,” Markus blurted, nodding. “I would like that.”

Connor grinned. “Good. It’s a date.” He held Markus’ eyes as he pushed off the wall until fading into the crowd, surrounded by art, leaving Markus to stand slack-jawed against the window.

The sparking wire in the back of his mind finally reconnected, humming pleasantly--and _significantly_ indeed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay you guys, I'm moving in a few weeks. I'm going to do my best to post at least one more chapter before I move. After that, updates might be a little bit slower since I'm basically starting my whole life over across the country, so I appreciate your patience! I also wanted to say thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments. This is the first multi-chapter fic I've dedicated myself to in a couple of years, so it's really rewarding to see that people are enjoying it. Love you guys!


End file.
